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WITH STAR AND GRASS 



With Star and Grass 



By 
Anna Spencer Twitchell 




The Cornhill Publishing Company 
Boston 






Copyright, 1921 
THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 



^^^ /7/j?/©ClA622433 



TO D. 

I sought Love over the world 

In countries far — 

Out on strange highways 

I followed the wind, 

I followed a bird, 

I followed a star. 

I sought Love over the world 

Till I weary grew. 

Then I followed my heart 

And it led me 

Home to you. 



For the 'privilege of reprinting many of the poems in 
this book, I am greatly indebted to the editors of the 
followiug publications: 

Contemporary Verse, Harper's Magazine, The New 
Republic, Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, The Touch- 
stone, The Liberator, The Delineator, The Designer, 
The Forum, The New Fiction Publishing Company, 
and others. 



CONTENTS 

The Wife 3 

With Star and Grass 8 

Bereft 4 

To a Mountain Pine 4 

From a Lonely Hearth 5 

New Fires 5 

From a Cloister 6 

Resurrection 6 

Song 7 

Roses 7 

Kindergarten 7 

The Aspen 8 

Alone 9 

The Vagrant 10 

The Urge 10 

The Chosen 11 

When He Comes Home 12 

The Day Love Came IS 

A Broken Lute 14 

The Haunted Room 14 

Before a Dynamo 15 

Aspiration 15 

Song of the Desert 16 

Mother Heart 16 

A Water Color 17 

The Harp 19 

After Parting 19 

Gethsemane 20 

Songs 20 

Revelation 21 

Long Live the King 21 

ix 



CONTENTS 



The Hands 22 

Sepulture 24 

The Undesired 25 

Her Hands 25 

The Old Father 26 

Loss 27 

War Mother's Lullaby 27 

Two 28 

Wings 29 

Mourners 29 

Epitaph 80 

Love's Gifts SO 

Oh! Through What Groping Lives .... 31 

Compensation 31 

FiveTo-Day 32 

In Spite of Storm §2 

The Little House 33 

Or a Melody 33 

Fulfillment 34 

Moon-Path 34 

Nests 35 

Childless 35 

The Newly Dead 36 

Before Dawn 37 

The Old Grief 37 

Mountains 38 

After Loss 38 

In Absence 39 

I Know 89 

I Wm Sing My Songs to You ...... 40 

Men and Trees 40 

Gifts 41 

The Gate 42 

Lost— A Soul 42 



CONTENTS 



Virgin 43 

A Late Spring 43 

The Forgotten 44 

Blind 45 

When Muvver Cried 45 

God 47 

In March 47 

Rahab 48 

Truth 49 

When De Hants Is Out 50 

Midsummer's Eve 51 

Prescience 53 

Song 54 

Debt 54 

Transfiguration 54 

Out of Defeat 55 

The Field 55 

Disillusion 56 

September 56 

Spring 57 

The Vampire 57 

This Is Enough 58 

Quatrain 59 

On the Mountain 59 



x» 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 



THE WIFE 

He sees the wife from slim, young comeliness, 
With bearing of his children and their care. 
Grow stooped and withered and the shining hair 
That was his pride grow thin and lusterless. 
Day after day, with wordless, pained distress 
He strives to ease the load her shoulders bear. 
Lifting a burden here, a burden there. 
Or offering some clumsy, rare caress. 
But ah ! her girl-face never was so fair. 
And eyes and lips that answered his desire 
Are limned with sacred meaning to him now. 
To his rapt sight an angel might aspire 
To claim the stature of her soul, or wear 
The halo that surrounds her mother-brow. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 

As old I am as that white, throbbing star, 

Young as these herbs of Spring that quickly 
pass — 

My soul goes up the pathway of the star. 
My feet go down the pathway of the grass. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 



BEREFT 

Oh, brown Earth, warm and fragrant, 
Make soft her tiny bed. 
Oh, great Winds, in the darkness 
Move gently overhead — 

Be kind, you waving grasses 
She gathered baby-wise. 
And all you buds and blossoms 
Rest lightly on her eyes. 

Oh, mothers, to your bosoms 
Fold close and safe your own — 
My little babe is sleeping 
Beneath the stars . . . alone. 



TO A MOUNTAIN PINE 

lonely pine 

Upon your granite diff, 

1 know your pain — 
Tossing your weird arms 
To the mighty winds. 
Beating your ragged breast 
With shrunken hands. 

I know your pain. 

For I have stood 

On such high, dawn-kissed peaks 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 5 

And flung my arms 

And beat with futile hands, 

Because I still was held 

To stone and clod 

By sullen roots 

Of unremembered lives. 

FROM A LONELY HEARTH 

You used to search the sky with serious eyes 
As though with clearer vision you would see 
Beyond the hovering night clouds and the stars 
What heaven might be. 

And now, Beloved, do you ever turn 
From new-found raptures and celestial sights, 
Seeking, sometimes, with wide and wistful gaze 
The dear home lights? 

NEW FIRES 

When every brook is mute and frozen lie 
The patient fields, and hushed is melody, 
I am content with books or some old friend 
Who will not stir my pulse nor quicken me. 

But when the Year lights green fires in the glade, 
When young grass starts and birds are sweet above, 
I cry "Halloo" to Pan, and hand in hand 
We range the high hills calling unto Love. 



6 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



FROM A CLOISTER 

Sweet Mary, I have turned my face from life, 
My heart is empty and my lips unkissed — 
And often does my soul cry out for all 
That I have missed. 

Sometimes these wrappings seem but cerements. 
Sometimes these beads are cold, these prayers are 

dead, 
And, oh, a cross lies heavy where should lie 
The little head. 



RESURRECTION 

No tomb shall weight me down, no dark grave close 

Me from the light within its narrow cell — 

The winds I love these ashes shall dispel. 

To mingle with the myriads of those 

Long turned to dust. — But when Spring's magic 

shows. 
When sweet grass starts and buds begin to swell, 
Lo, thou shalt find me in the Hly's bell, 
Lo, I shall wake and blossom with the rose. 
With the first throb of unseen mystery. 
Wooing to miracle the senseless clod. 
With the first subtle thrill of ecstasy. 
With the first quivering note of melody. 
This heart shall quicken with the quickening sod. 
Part of the very beating heart of God. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 



SONG 

I have wings today — I can fly, 
I am quickened with ecstasy, 
I am part of the shining song 
Of the brook and tree. 

Love has given me wings and song. 
He has clasped and touched me with flame. 
And never shall dawn break as before. 
Nor starlight look the same. 

ROSES 

Across the garden space 
A perfume blows — 
I know the darkness holds, 
Somewhere, a rose. 

The garden of my dreams 
Is fragrant, too, 
And as night holds the rose 
My heart holds you. 



KINDERGARTEN 

I watched the children today 
Fitting blocks together 
In simple patterns 
I had set for them. 



8 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

And as I leaned above 

The small, restless bodies, 

And saw the flushed faces 

Drawn into serious, unaccustomed lines, 

I longed to set the patterns 

Right for them, myself. 

With a few deft touches, 

And send the babies out to play 

In the orchard, 

To shout and dance, 

And catch the falling petals 

In their soft, rosy palms. 

Oh, God, 

Do You never long 

To set the patterns right 

For stumbling fingers, 

And send Your children 

To play on the hills 

Before the day is done? 

THE ASPEN 

Straight and slender 

Is the young Aspen 

Upon the mountain-side. 

Aloof and shining, 

White like a maiden. 

Mystery is about her. 

She sways to a heavenly music. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 

The Wind comes as her lover: 

He whispers softly, 

All her pale, silken leaves rustle 

With vague, amorous yearnings, 

Feeling his breath upon her bosom. 

But when, boldly, he would make her his. 

She holds back his ardor 

With slim, protesting hands. 



ALONE 

Well I remember that bleak day of snow, 

Of sullen skies and searching, angry winds — 

How my stern father came and held me up. 

Too small a child to see you as you lay. 

How from the chill aloofness of your smile. 

And from your form so strangely still I turned. 

Half -comprehending, suddenly desolate. 

And hid my face against his breast and yearned 

For some belated hint of tenderness. 

But, coldly, as his way had ever been. 

He but unclasped, slowly, my clinging arms 

About his neck, and led me, shrinking, in 

Among the funeral guests. 

And even now 
That early loss comes crying at my heart : 
I stand again the timid, wistful child. 
Bewildered, in my ugly dress of black, 



10 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

Among the whispering neighbors, and I feel 
Again the curious, prying eyes — And you . . . 
In the long box . . . helpless to comfort me. 



THE VAGRANT 

My heart it will not stay at home 
Contentedly and rest, 
My heart it will not fold its wings 
Within the quiet nest — 

But still goes crying after dreams 
Unreal and pale as foam . . . 
Oh, foolish heart, to follow dreams 
When you have Love at home ! 



THE URGE 

Through countless ages mute and still 
Abode that tiny spark from God, 

Unmoved, insensate, with no will 
Nor impulse above rock and clod. 

For other ages long, it wore 

The humble guise of grass and tree. 

Of tender bud and bloom, before 

It found its earth-bound roots were free. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 11 

It heard, it saw, it woke, it slept, 
A sentient thing it called and cried — 

It swam, it flew, it crawled, it crept. 
It mated, bore its kind and died. 

Through aeons slowly wrought the vast 
Unfoldment of that mighty plan . . . 

Savage but upright, stood at last 
The uncouth semblance of a man. 

How long, how infinitely long. 
Before the embryo soul was born. 

To thrill to flower and sea and song. 
To note the stars, to greet the morn ! 

And with what resurrections bought. 

And by what purging of desires, 
Behold the creature of His thought 

That, god-hke, to the heights aspires. 



THE CHOSEN 

Upon a radiant summer day 
Young Love in glory came my way, 
His wings so dazzling in the light 
Mine eyes were blinded with the sight. 
"Come, lay thy hand in mine, dear maid. 
And go thou with me, unafraid; 
Whatever thy desire is thine, 



n WITH STAR AND GRASS 

If thou but pledge thy heart to mine: 
For thee life's honeyed cup/* he said, 
"The daily banquet richly spread, 
And learn how I have loved thee. Sweet, 
Who lay my kingdom at thy feet — 
Gold, jewels, lands, all thine — Wilt go?" — 
I hid my face and answered "No." 

When white the drifts of winter lay. 

One desolate and dreary day 

Came Love to me once more and said: 

"I have no place to rest my head. 

And often bitter is the cup 

And dry the crust from which I sup. 

No gift, no promise do I bring. 

This only is my offering: 

A cross which thou must share with me, 

A road whose end no man may see; 

Bruised feet and broken wings — Wilt go?' - 

And I went with him through the snow. 



WHEN HE COMES HOME 

When he comes home again ! I fashion o'er 
The hundred tender things that I shall say^ 
How I shall count the dragging hours all day. 
And when he comes shall hear his step before 
The old gate clicks, and meet him at the door. 
And help him with his shabby coat and lay. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 13 

Half-tearfully, the much-brushed hat away, 
And the stout cane he leans on more and more. 
When he is seated in his own big chair, 
That in his absence was so eloquent, 
As pleased as any child he'll tell me then 
About his visit, how each day was spent. 
Adding the while I stroke the soft, gray hair — 
**But nothing's quite like getting home again!" 

THE DAY LOVE CAME 

The day Love came I did not know his face, 
So kindly grave it was, so calm the glance 
From under level brows, I thought I looked 
On Friendship's countenance. 

The day Love came I did not know his voice. 
Since it was but a voice famiUar grown. 
That all my years, in any hour of need. 
Had answered to my own. 

The day Love came I did not know his touch. 
So cool and light the clasp he offered me; 
It caused no leap of hot blood to my heart. 
No sudden ecstasy. 

The day Love came I did not know his kiss. 
Who only felt it softly on my hair. 
When I had thought his burning lips would find 
My lips, and set it there. 



14 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

The day Love came there was no miracle. 
No rapture and no flame of passion. Nay . . . 
Too late I knew him for that faithful heart 
I miss ... so much . . . today. 

A BROKEN LUTE 

A broken lute, my heart ! When tenderly 
You touched it first to answering harmony, 
How little dreamed we that your hand would 

wring 
Such later discord from each tortured string. 

But once too oft the jangling measure woke; 
Beneath the strain it thrilling, throbbing, broke, 
And even to your long-loved touch is mute. 
It answers not — my heart, a broken lute. 

THE HAUNTED ROOM 

When you proved false, the chamber in my heart 
That had been yours so long, that sorry day 
I swept and darkened, then I locked the door 
And threw the key away. 

I thought again to find my former peace. 
Knowing that chamber tenantless and bare. 
When, lo, as once I passed that shrouded room, 
I heard a knocking there. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 15 

When you went forth that day at my command. 
Unknown within I locked your memory . . . 
I may not enter that sad ghost to lay — 
I threw away the key ! 

BEFORE A DYNAMO 

Terrible, unknown power, harnessed and made 
Servant to puny man! The city street 
Is but an artery where your pulses beat. 
Quickening to swifter life the heart of Trade, 
Hastening the feet of Progress. By your aid 
We conquer now where once we knew defeat. 
Light you have given us, and force and heat. 
Annihilated time and space, and played 
With life and death even as a juggler may 
Toss his gilt baubles with a careless hand. 
Upon the storm you ride unbridled; here 
Where we have chained you, you can but obey. 
Straining your bonds vainly, to understand 
How you were shackled whom your captors fear, 

ASPIRATION 

So long the way at times I cannot see 
The outline of the peak that beckons me — 
So thick the mists and clouds that loom afar, 
I often cannot see my guiding star. 

Though long the way and hidden be the goal, 
Yet mountain-peak and star are there, my Soul. 



16 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



SONG OF THE DESERT 

I stretch my length of burning sand and lie 
A-dream beneath the hot blue of the sky. 
And mile on mile upon my barren breast. 
My yuccas lift in attitude of prayer, 
Their slim, white hands into the quiet air. 
With cactuses in fiery splendor set 
As living jewels in a coronet. 

My mysteries have lured the feet of man, 
Bones mark the passing of his caravan. 
Tragedies are my mile-posts, everywhere 
Pointing the shriveled finger of despair . . . 
Arid, untamed, yet in my bosom deep 
The hopes of unborn generations sleep. 



MOTHER-HEART 

Not in the throes of her maternity. 
Nor when his first cry pierced her consciousness; 
Not when he drew his life with soft caress 
From her white breast; not in the hour when he 
Essayed her arms' safe shelter totteringly. 
Nor when a dark day left him fatherless; 
Not when she hid from him her heart's distress. 
And gave her years to watchful ministry . . . 
But when, man-grown, he brought her shame and 
woe. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 17 

And came, a broken thing, to her once more, 
Soiled, sodden, seemingly devoid of good; 
'Twas then that, feeble, her gray head bowed low. 
Yet mutely yearning over him she bore. 
She tasted her full cup of motherhood. 



A WATER COLOR 

It hangs above my desk in home-made frame; 
You trace the sprawling letters of the name, 
*'A California Sunset," and you smile, 
And comment on the unknown artist's "style"! 

Listen. — Her way like many more was laid 
In the gray places — less in sun than shade. 
Less in the brightness than the chilling rain. 
Less in the paths of pleasure than of pain. 
The short, hot summers brought the drought 

each year, 
The blighted crops, the pastures brown and sere. 
She saw no pleasant stretch of river shore, 
No trees, no grass, no flowers were round her door. 
In a hard land where each new day could bring 
But thankless tasks, she toiled unquestioning. 
And through the months of barren wintryness. 
With life as dreary and as colorless. 
Day after day through those slow-footed hours. 
She stilled her soul with dreams of birds and 

flowers : 



18 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

She saw the sunset warm upon the sky. 
She saw it on the brooding mountains he; 
She saw an ocean bathed in tender Hght, 
And flowers folded-petalled for the night — 
Until the stumbHng fingers, apt in naught 
But round of homely duties, and untaught 
In what the world calls art, in some swift rush 
Of scarce defined emotion, seized the brush. 
And painted there upon the back-ground rude. 
With trembling strokes and colors dull and 

crude, 
Painted in rapture, painted lovingly, 
Her dream of mountain and of sunset sea. 
Great thoughts within her moved her through and 

through. 
As haltingly the little picture grew, 
And those stiff fingers, struggling to express. 
Made every stroke tender as a caress. 
What that a child's cheap paints were all she 

had, 
What that the tints were poor, the drawing bad? 
The blur of color and unsightly lines 
Glow all transformed when once the heart 

divines . . . 

And so the little daub hangs there today — 
The paints and brush long since were laid 

away; 
Quiet at length the restless heart and hand — 
And one might smile . . . who did not understand. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 19 



THE HARP 

She seems to me like some quaint instrument, 
That, warped and scarred, is mellowed with the 

years. 
Attuned to long-dead hopes and smiles and tears, 

Dim as the attic where its days are spent — 

That yet, with every quivering nerve a-thrill 
Speaks at the touch of skillful hands across 
The tarnished strings, through change, decay 
and loss 

Responsive to the master-fingers still. 

AFTER PARTING 

I have not let him know my love 
Nor put its rapture in a song, 
But with stern guard on eyes and lips 
I have been strong. 

I have shut out his prayers and turned 
Blindly from his dear arms and kiss — 
Oh, I have found, some way, somehow. 
Courage for this . . . 

Oh, road whereon he lonely walks. 
Oh, saihng moon, a silver rim. 
Oh, winds and clouds and stars, tonight 
Be kind to him. 



20 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



GETHSEMANE 

Quiet but sleepless all the night she lies. 
The while the little clock ticks noisily 
'The passing moments to eternity. 
She watches for the dawn with straining eyes. 
Feeling the first, faint thrill within her rise. 
Fore-runner of the miracle to be — 
Her hour with God on woman's Calvary. 
Her untried soul for strength and courage cries 
To face the unknown perils of the day. 
When that frail flesh in pain is crucified. — 
Wide-eyed, she sees the brooding darkness flee 
At dawn's approach, and mutely strives to pray. 
While he sleeps on unheeding at her side. 
This bitter night of her Gethsemane. 



SONGS 

The songs I sang before you came, beloved. 
Were such as youth sings, confident and clear. 
Lightly from thoughtless lips and untried heart 
For all to hear. 

Since love has touched me and with other eyes 
I read new meaning now in everything. 
My lips are strangely mute, and only God 
Can hear me sing. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 21 



REVELATION 

So calm she is, so nun-like is her mien, 

Pale lips and placid brow and banded hair — 

Aloof and coldly white and passionless 

As those who dwell within the cloister's air. 

But once I saw her for a mad breath's span 
Unguarded, with the mask she wears laid by. 
And for a tortured moment in her eyes. 
Something that begged for death but could not die. 



"LONG LIVE THE KING!" 

"The King is dead!— Long live the King!" 
They cried as they crowned his son. 
The dead king smiled in his awful peace 
As they hailed the other one. 

The son stood straight in youth and strength 
While they placed the heavy crown. 
And gave him the scepter that yesterday 
The dead laid gladly down. 

Brave and fair stood the slender lad 

And never a sign he gave, 

Though none knew better than he, they fixed 

The gyves upon a slave. 



22 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



THE HANDS 

I sing the hands of Labor: 

The unskilled hands that smite and break and hew. 
That cut and dig and draw and cleave. 
That blast and delve and heave and dredge; 
The sinewy, roughened, horny hands, 
The seamed and maimed and knotted hands. 
Begrimed and stained and worn — 
All the patient, faithful, burden-bearing hands of 
the world. 

I sing the hands of Labor: 
The uncouth, virile, hairy hands of men, 
With dead dreams in their eyes, and in their hearts 
The burnt-out embers of dead altar fires. 
The sodden days lie heavy on their souls 
As sodden nights weight down their heavy lids. 
Could dreams and sacred fires be meant for such 
as these? 

I sing the hands of Labor: 

Unlovely hands with fingers blunt and shapeless. 
The red and coarsened hands of women. 
The women with no time for motherhood 
Beyond the bearing of the listless babes 
Conceived of pale, anemic passion in sordid in- 
tervals 
Between the hopeless days. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 23 

I sing the hands of Labor: 

The hands of youths and maids who come with 

lagging feet 
In the endless procession of workers. 
With heavy, sullen features 
And old, wistful eyes that question life. 



I sing the hands of Labor: 

The pitiful, thin hands of little children, 

God's little children, robbed of love and laughter, 

And cheated of their playtime; 

Thrust from their cradles by the greed of men 

Into the ranks of toilers. 

To sip of knowledge from a poisoned cup, 

And learn the beautiful truths of their bodies 

From lecherous lips; 

Baby hands, fashioned for kisses. 

That, still warm from the meager breasts of gaunt 

mothers. 
Are schooling themselves to patience and cunning 
At tedious tasks. 



I sing the hands of Labor: 
The bony, bloodless, withered hands, 
The feeble, faltering, palsied hands, 
The tragic hands of the uncherished old, 
So soon to drop the tangled threads of life, 
And lay the blurred, unsightly pattern by. 



24 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

I sing the hands of Labor — 

All the patient, faithful, burden-bearing hands of 

the world .... 
Christ's tears will wash the scars from these 

poor hands. 



SEPULTURE 

They have laid by their outworn vestures, all 

The hosts we call the dead. 

They rot in wormy shrouds or moulder in 

The catacombs. 

Or dragged from ravished tombs 

They grin at us from painted stalls. 

Brown, shrunken mummies 

Swathed in yellowed bands .... 

When I shall wing my way among the stars. 

In perfect tune, at last, with God's great 

plan. 
Perchance I shall not care what fate befell 
The frayed robe of my soul. 
And yet this seems more fit 
Than charnel damps and slow decay: 
That darting fingers of the sure, swift flame 
Shall ravel out its twisted stuff, 
And slender fingers of the winds of heaven 
Weave it in cloud, or bear it where 
The next sweet spring may make it into 

flowers. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 25 



THE UNDESIRED 

An unloved burden carried through the weary 

months . . . 
Another babe, 
Unwelcome, undesired, 
To drink the bitter milk 
From a reluctant, meager breast. 
To suck in with the scant, thin stream 
The poison bred of loathing 
And the hot shame 
Of motherhood defiled; 

To come in time to know the look of gray despair 
In the dull eyes. 
The sullen resignation 
Of the spiritless, broken thing 
That suffers numbly with no outward sign. 

Nothing of joy in that life at her heart, 

Nothing of sweet, dear planning, holy awe 

For the great miracle of love made flesh; 

No high inheritance of dreams. 

No warm and yearning arms — 

Only the mother-cry of agony. 

And the worn face that looks . . . and turns away. 



HER HANDS 

Not white nor soft, her hands, nor tapering — 
Uncared for, rough, with red, work-coarsened skin; 



26 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

No gems they boast, but long by time worn thin 

As pledge of wifehood, just one plain band ring. 

Their sole adornment through the years has been. 

Such willing hands, alert for anything 

Of service, for the daily tasks that bring 

Nor thanks nor praise; the same dull round 

within 
The house, of toil and grind the grim years send. 
Such patient, tender hands, so swift to ease, 
So strong to minister in hours that try 
The tortured soul. — ^Ah, it is hands like these. 
Faithful and burden-bearing to the end, 
We miss — God help us! — when they folded lie. 

THE OLD FATHER 

Last evening I came on him, unaware. 

His shabby, old straw hat upon his knee. 

The good, stout stick he leans on, easily 

Within his reach beside his big arm-chair; 

Aureoled by the whiteness of his hair, 

The gentle face a-light with memory. 

The faded, blue eyes wistful, as we see 

A child's that begs an answer to its prayer. 

And almost I could see her lean to rest 

Her lips upon his forehead, and to lay 

Her soft, old cheek to his, then poised for flight, 

Laugh back at him, till captive on his breast 

She took his kiss. There in the failing light 

I left him to his dreams, and stole away. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 27 



LOSS 

My dream it was a soaring bird, 
Lured to his hand and will — 
Its flight is done that in the dust 
Lies broken-winged and still. 

My love it was the boon he begged. 
An opening rose of red. 
But ah, his breath has withered it — 
And now the rose is dead. 



WAR MOTHER'S LULLABY 

Lullaby — lullaby — 
Camest from my heart to lie 
With the cold ground for a bed. 
And no roof above thy head. 
Hunger, fear and misery 
Sapped my life and cheated thee, 
And this shrunken breast is dry — 
Lullaby — lullaby. 

In the darkness and the rain. 
Cradled where the dead have lain. 
Cradled on the verge of hell — 
Through the scream of shot and shell 
God can never hear thy cry — 

Lullaby — lullaby. 



2S WITH STAR AND GRASS 

Lullaby — ^lullaby — 

Country! — ^but the price is high! 

Thy young brothers fair and brave, 

And thy father — all, I gave. 

All of suffering I know . . . 

Long my tears have ceased to flow . . . 

Hush — 'tis not so hard to die — 

Lullaby — lullaby. 

TWO 

I gave them flesh and brought them by 
The narrow gate of pain; 
I suckled them, I worked for them, 
I saw them both attain 

Yoimg manhood's growth. — And then I said; 
"Now they will care for me, 
And happy years at length shall bring 
Their sons about my knee." 

Then came the war. . .1 gave them both. . . 

I saw them march away ... 

As though they had not ever been 

I am alone today. 

One fell. . . The other? by the fire 
He sits, or in the sun, 
His mind forever shattered by 
The horror of Verdun. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 29 



He stares and stares with vacant eyes 
And whispers all the while . . . 
And I had rather see him dead 
Than see his awful smile. 



WINGS 

So weak and small, so shaken with the gusts 
Of sorry passions, bound by earthly things, 

So given to futile fears and vague mistrusts — 
Yet have we wings ! 

The love that lifts and shares another's woe, 

The upward reaching thought, the dream that 
sings, 

Unselfish prayers that rise to heaven — lo. 
These are our wings. 

As nestlings in their first flights strive and yearn, 
Testing their powers with feeble flutterings 

And timid trials, so at last we learn 
To use our wings! 



MOURNERS 

They look with curious eyes to see me smile 
And take my task up with unfaltering hand— 
Who, knowing you, yet donned a garb of black, 
Could never understand. 



30 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

They sit within the dim and breathless house. 
And feed their grief with white-hpped question- 
ing, 
While just without, the garden that you loved 
Grows fragrant with the Spring. 

EPITAPH 

This shattered chalice 

Held thy wine 

Of life— 

Its end is served. 

Tomorrow 

Thou shalt fill 

Another cup. 

Nor know that thou 

Didst ever drink before. 

LOVE'S GIFTS 

Love plucked a flower for me 
One happy day. 

But the flower was a joy that paled 
And passed away. 

Love gave me a jewel fair 
While his eyes caressed, 
But the gem was a hope that died 
Within my breast. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 31 

Love fashioned a crown and brought 
As offering — 

A grief which the years have made 
A holy thing. 

OH, THROUGH WHAT GROPING LIVES— 

Within that shambling, uncouth shape I wore, 
Something unborn stirred faintly. — From the clod 
The sullen glance was raised, the face grotesque 
Lifted with some vague impulse toward God .... 

Oh, through what groping lives, what paths of 
pain. 

What tossing tides my faltering soul must stem. 

Oh, through what mysteries have I come. Be- 
loved, 

To kneel at last and kiss your garment's hem. 

COMPENSATION 

The years have taken all I had : 

Swift senses, supple grace. 

Gold from my hair, light from my eyes. 

The roses from my face. 

The years have taken all I had: 

Now they shall give to me, 

Who from their hands in one keen breath 

Take immortality. 



32 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



FIVE TODAY 

Five years old today ! ah, my sweet, I see 
What a great big girl you have grown to be. 
The ringlets that clustered your baby brow 
Hang in curls quite down to your shoulders now; 
You are tall for your years — a little maid 
With serious eyes that are unafraid; 
You speak with a quaint little lisp the while, 
And bless me — ^you've stolen your daddy's smile! 
You are slender and straight of limb, and light 
Of step as the fairies that dance by night. 
And your merry laugh is so sweet and clear 
I fancy its echo reaches me here. 
Ah, baby, our baby who went away — 
Somewhere in heaven you're five today. 

IN SPITE OF STORM 

The high storms searched me out 
Within my barren cleft, 
But as the mountain Gilia, 
Tossed and broken by the winds 
Will cling by just a thread 
Of tenuous root to life 
And bear its bloom, 
I hold by one frail dream. 
The patient years will heal, 
And, shapen out of pain. 
My soul at last shall lift 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 33 

A chalice white, 

To hold the dew and rain 

THE LITTLE HOUSE 

I wonder how these pleasant folk, 
These kindly folk that neighbor me. 
Can pass my gate day after day 
And never see — 

Can look and nod engrossed in talk 
Or business dull and commonplace. 
No swift surprise or wonder marked 
On any face. 

I must believe they only see 
A house, a garden fenced and neat. 
Apparently like many more 
Along the street: 

A tiny, unpretentious place 

With graveled paths and spreading oak-^ 

Yet Love left paradise for this, 

Oh, stupid folk! 

OR A MELODY 

With the winds of dawn that stir 
As the stars grow dim. 
Scorning mountains that divide, 
I go seeking him. 



34 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

Though he never know the watch 
That my spirit keeps, 
Nor my kiss upon his eyes, 
Softly, as he sleeps — 

Let me steal across his dreams. 
Sometimes let me be 
As a fragrance or a light 
Or a melody 

FULFILLMENT 

That day, beloved, shall bring joy to some. 
To others, grief — to many, life, and lay 
Death's shadowy laurels upon waiting brows. 
To some it will be just another day. 

My heart will know while yet the sky is gray. 
When weary men with sleep are drugged and 

numb. 
And quickening before the mists of dawn 
My eager soul shall meet you as you come. 

MOON-PATH 

The pale, young moon slips through my open 

door, 
And weaves a fragile path of mystery — 
Fragrant, alluring, one white rose without. 
Beckons and nods to me. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 35 

Perhaps old dreams shall come with eager feet 
A-down that whither-leading way of light . . . 
Perhaps old memories shall stir and wake 
And walk with me to-night. 

NESTS 

I felt the thrill before my eyes could see, 
The quickening at the heart of everything, 
And lo ! while yet I marveled, it was Spring, 
All palpitant with birth and mystery. 
Busy the long day through on tireless wing. 
Two sparrows building in a leafing tree. 
Drunken with bliss though garbed most quakerly, 
Chirped of the rapture that they could not sing. 
And I! — I thought me of a country lane. 
Where even now the crocuses must be 
Jeweling all the starting green again; 
And in a wee, brown, snugly-hidden nest, 
My eager fancy leaped to clasp her, — she 
With our small fledgeling safe upon her breast. 

CHILDLESS 

Her bosom's tender curves have never been 

The pillow for a sleepy baby's head. 

She has not brooded by a small, white bed. 

With soft, deft mother-touches, tucking in 

A little form. She has not fought to win 

Through racking hours, uncheered, uncomforted, 



36 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



A hopeless bout with death, nor anguished shed 
Her holy tears, when first the shape of Sin 
Threatened a heart once nourished near her 

own. — 
Within her dim house is no prattling glee. 
No littered rooms, no sound of eager feet. 
The days are meaningless, and she alone 
Can know how her life's flower, shaped perfectly. 
Yet slowly withers, barren, incomplete. 

THE NEWLY DEAD 

I sat beside the newly dead — 
Without the trees were bare, 
The wind swept in through every crack 
Guttering the candles there. 

Gaunt branches brushed against the pane — 
My dead did never stir; 
The wind beat shrieking at the door 
But never startled her. 

And she who in the crying storm 
Would wake with vague alarms. 
And shrink and cling and creep at last 
For comfort to my arms. 

Lay undismayed, so small, so frail^ 
Composed and quiet — she, 
My little bride, so strangely come 
To have no need of me. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 37 



BEFORE DAWN 

When youth was all of life 
And shining days were long, 
Upon my lips 
Love was a song. 

When tides were at their full 
And pulses hot and high, 
Out of my heart 
Love was a cry. 

And now when with the stars 
This sacred hour I share, 
Within my soul 
Love is a prayer. 



THE OLD GRIEF 

The quick storm caught us and the beat of rain 
Flashed slanting silver on the wayside dust- 

The poppies' startled faces were a stain 
And blur of scarlet against yellow rust. 

Beneath the refuge of a friendly tree, 

Within my arms I held you close and warm- 

You answered to the first kiss fearlessly. 
And oh, I blessed the miracle of storm! 



38 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

So keen at heart my unhealed sorrow Hes 
This still can stir to sudden, throbbing pain, 

And bring the swift tears to my anguished eyes: 
A country roadside and the breath of rain. 



MOUNTAINS 

Serene and still each rock-hewn face. 
Though storms have left their scars — 
They seem to shame my spirit bowed 
In dust beneath the stars. 

Oh, granite peaks of mystery 

And winds' eternal psalm, 

If but my heart were stone like yours, 

I, too, could be as calm. 



AFTER LOSS 

For them there still are stars, 
And flowers upon the earth. 
The zest of dreams and work. 
And melody and mirth. 

And still are dawn and dusk, 
And days of long delight. 
And lips that touch and cling. 
Of lovers in the night. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 39 

For me is only this: 

Your grave — a wound still new 

Upon a wind-swept hill 

That holds my dead heart, too. 



IN ABSENCE 

Sometimes with an up-leaping heart 
I see a shadow fall, 
Across a sudden silence 
I seem to hear you call : 

But when I look it is a cloud 
Upon my bit of sky, 
And when I listen comes again 
Only a wild bird's cry. 



I KNOW 

Dear Heart, I know what love could mean. 
And for that love I long, 
Since in my veins is singing fire 
And life in me is strong. 

Dear Heart, I know what love could mean . 
But on my lips I lay 
Silence, and only tell to God 
The dream I put away. 



40 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



I WILL SING MY SONGS TO YOU 

I will sing my songs to you 
Though the miles may part — 
Like the love that sends them forth 
They will find your heart: 

Little songs made white as prayer 
And by sorrow blest — 
Oh, as I would, if I might, 
They will find your breast. 

I will sing my songs to you, 
And if God shall hear. 
He will know — and let them rest 
Softly as a tear. 



MEN AND TREES 

We stand along your avenue 
A stately, ordered row — 
Important, selfish, silly, vain, 
We watch you come and go. 

In silent laughter we look on 
At all the things you do— 
You little dream how, leafily, 
We make a jest of you: 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 41 

Your endless scramble after wealth, 
Your malice and your greed. 
Your shameful mockery of God, 
The bloody wars you breed. 

For if we could not turn to jest 
The foolish and the bad. 
From very horror of your deeds 
I think we should go mad. 

Oh, we are wiser far than you 
In truths and mysteries , . . 
'Tis only feet that make you men, 
And roots that make us trees. 



GIFTS 

When I came down from the mountain trail 

I brought three gifts to her: 

A feather of cloud, 

A wild bird's song 

And a wreath of juniper. 

When I came again from the mountain trail 

I found of the gifts I gave. 

The cloud had scattered, 

The song was mute. 

And the wreath was on her grave. 



42 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



THE GATE 

The wood is stubborn and tough 
And the iron is hard and cold — 
I cry and I beat upon the Gate 
But the great locks hold. 

I can beat till my hands are torn, 

I can call till I faint for breath — 

It closed when the first man lonely passed 

To the realm of Death. 



LOST— A SOUL 

Somewhere in all this confusing 

Tangle of objects, 

Among the possessions 

I have strained and sweated 

All my best years 

To gather about me— 

Somewhere among the crowding ornaments. 

Furniture, rugs, brocades. 

Cut-glass and silver-plate. 

Is the soul I have lost. 

In my youth of privation and struggle 

It used to brighten 

My bare little room. 

It wore a shimmering garment of dream 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 43 

A filet of golden fancies 
Bound its brow. 
Its eyes held visions. 

If anyone chance to see a soul 

Grown somewhat fat and sluggish 

And careless in attire, 

Hugging itself and gloating 

In some richly upholstered chair, 

Or counting the silver spoons, 

It is mine. — I would have it back. 

For one needs a soul 

If only to keep up appearances. 

VIRGIN 

I often see her in a quaint, prim gown. 
Walking within the shady garden close. 
Her faded cheek flushed softly as she bends 
Above a rose. 

She smiles at happy mothers as they pass 
A wistful smile — then slowly turns away, 
A lonely figure in a garden where 
No children play. 

A LATE SPRING 

This Spring-time has no laughter in her face; 
Her eyes are veiled with shadows and the sweet 
Young curve of lips is sorrowful. — The street 



44 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

That takes on passing beauty from her grace, 

Is bleak and cheerless still, a straggling row 

Of ugly houses and of naked trees, 

And woodland shrines are bare of mysteries. 

With empty censers swinging to and fro. — 

Reluctantly the line of frost recedes. 

Even the songs of birds are less elate. 

Even the grass beside the path is thin 

And pale between November's faded weeds. 

It is as though the Winter held the gate 

Half open, through which the tides of life flow in. 

THE FORGOTTEN 

No song is on my lips 
Where song was yesterday — 
I wish that I could cry, 
I wish that I could pray. 

I go with dragging feet 
From task to weary task. 
My heart is but a stone. 
My face is but a mask. 

Green fires are on the hill, 

A bird calls to its mate. 

Love comes with tender strength. 

Life beats upon the Gate. 

But Love comes not to me. 
No surge of life sweeps high — 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 45 

I wish that I could pray, 
I wish that I could cry. 

BLIND 

I shall not see the budding of the Spring, 
I shall not see the Summer's glory pale, 

The flash of painted breast and soaring wing. 
The poppy's piquant face beside the trail. 

All masked for me — the sunny, wind-swept space, 
The mists that wrap the valley like a shroud. 

The hills where Autumn drapes her orient lace, 
The visions limned in lifting smoke and cloud. 

Yet not alone nor stricken utterly 

Though thrust to sudden darkness and apart — 
I have your face and smile in memory. 

The wonder of you warm against my heart. 

Not all for sorrow marked nor all unblessed! 

A sweetness lingers in the bitter bowl, 
A meaning in all things before unguessed. 

And shapen in the stillness of the soul. 

WHEN MUVVER CRIED 

One time when I ist wouldnt mind. 
An' had been very, very bad. 
My muvver didn't say a word. 
But looked at me so drefful sad — 



46 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

An' I ist pouted like I 'uz, 

An' kicked my heels against the chair. 

An' ist p'tended to myself 

'At I 'uz glad an' didn't care! 

I didn't look at her but at 
The pattern on the nurs'ry wall. 
An' I kept sayin' to myself: 
"I'm bad, an' I don't care at alU" 

I felt so stubborn all inside, 
An' ist as cross as I could be, 
An' swinged my feet an' waited for 
Her to come there an' punish me. 

The minutes they went by so slow 
'At I got tired, an' by-an'-by 
I peeked at her a little bit 
Out of the corner of my eye. 

An' 'en, oh, dear! — the stubborn there 
On my inside, an' all the mad 
'Uz gone so quick I wondered why 
It 'uz 'at I had been so bad. 

An' I jumped down and runned to her 
An' hugged an' kissed her, an' I said: 
**0h, muvver, I'm so sorry, an' 
I ist most wish 'at I 'uz dead! 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 47 

An' she laughed kind of shaky -like 
An' stroked my hair an' kissed me nen, 
An' I said "honest, cross my heart'* 
I never would do so again. 

I've thinked about it ever since, 
I can't forget it when I try — 
My daddy says no gentleman 
Would ever make his muwer cry! 

GOD 

I followed it through Druid forests dim. 
Through sunny vales and to the mountain height, 
I saw it marching with the legioned waves, 
I felt it in the mystery of night. 

It flew before the rosy mists of day. 
The vast winds caught and carried it along. 
It trembled in the chalice of a rose, 
I heard it in a linnet's matin song. 

It looked from out a dumb brute's patient eyes, 
It mounted on from star to paling star: 
That glory which man has within himself. 
But which he ever blindly seeks afar. 

IN MARCH 

I dreamed last night that it was spring, 

And that I heard a robin sing. 

And woke from sleep, at length to find, 



48 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

The teasing fingers of the Wind, 
Have piled the white drifts to my door 
And sifted some upon the floor, 
And all my window-pane is crossed 
With fairy etchings of the frost. 
I hear a creaking wagon go, 
Complaining shrilly, through the snow; 
I see a sky of leaden gray. 
My neighbor says, "A bitter day." 
I woke — ah, yes ! — the trees are bare. 
But there is something in the air. 
No rain is dripping from the eaves. 
But hush ! — I hear the little leaves 
Stir softly in their beds of bark. 
And in their blankets in the dark, 
The tiny baby seeds below. 
Begin to turn and stretch and grow. 

Then blow, O Wind, and Winter do 
Your worst — my dream is coming true ! 

RAHAB 

In the light of her sensuous glances, 

In the web of her scented hair. 

In the curve of her coral-budded breasts. 

They dream — and they perish there. 

Sweet flesh for their barter or buying. 
Poor victim and lurer of men — 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 49 

When the hot draft is drained and the goblet 
Lies shattered, oh, Rahab, what then? 

TRUTH 

I bear my flaming torch before you, 

But you hide your eyes from my Hght, 

And guide your Uves by the Httle, flickering 

candles 
Of desire and delusion. 
I unveil my glory to your sight, 
But my nakedness affrights you. 
And your evil minds make lewdness 
Out of what is holy. 

You would put out my torch if you might. 
Even as you defile my sacred body. 
Behold how I am rended. 
How I am dragged through the slime in which you 

breed, 
How I am offered up daily in sacrifice 
To your unspeakable idolatries. 
To your fetishes of prudery and convention. 

Puny creatures of a day, 

Disappearing, reappearing, 

Working out your salvation through many lives. 

Like moles burrowing blindly. 

Sensing nothing higher than your clod of earth. 

It is such as you who persecute and trample me. 

Pompous little strutting men. 



50 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

Oppressors, plunderers. 

Selling souls for gain. 

Making wars for greed — 

It is such as you who insult my divinity. 

Know you not that I am deathless : 

That I rise triumphant from the dust 

Of decayed civilizations. 

And spring from the ashes of burned-out worlds? 

Know you not that I was begotten of God, 

Nourished in the womb of Eternity, 

And came forth with the birth-pangs of Creation? 

That my torch was lighted with the lighting of the 

stars. 
And shall not be dimmed when they are quenched? 

And so I go before you down the ages . . . 
Naked Truth, bearing a torch. 

WHEN DE HANTS IS OUT 

Your caint tell me nuflfin', fo' yo' ole uncle 

knows. — 
Why else he been a-livin' all dis time, you spose? 
Why, chile, when I wuz jes' a-wearin* baby does. 
My mammy she had learned me dat on nights lak 

dese, 
W*en somepin go a-wailin' thoo de elum trees. 
An' de moon is hid, an' de rain a-comin' down, 
Dat you bettah stay inside whar yo' safe an* soun'. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 51 

So, chile, you listen to me — what I says is true : 
De Hants is awful hongry, an' a-waitin*, too, 
Fo' a little pickininny dat's as plump as you; 
An' dey aint no question, an' dey aint a bit of 

doubt, 
Dat dis berry, blessed evenin' all de Hants is out ! 

Fo' when de lightning flashes an' de thundah roa'. 
Den de Hants all stan' in a row by de doa', 
Caze dey scent out a niggah every time fo' sho*. 
An' dey stick dey long noses to de cracks an' 

smell, 
An' if de dahkie 's fat dey am pleased mighty well. 
An' dey all switch dey tails, an' dey all lick dey 

chops. 
And de win' go Screech ! — and de broken shuttah 

flops! 
So, chile, you listen to me — what I says is true : 
De Hants is awful hongry, an' a-waitin', too, 
Fo' a little pickininny dat's as plump as you; 
An' dey aint no question, an' dey aint a bit of 

doubt, 
Dat dis berry, blessed evenin' all de Hants is out ! 

MIDSUMMER'S EVE 

Gaunt as the ghastly tenements which they call 

home. 
Fronting the squalor of the wretched street. 
After the day's fierce heat is ended 



52 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

They come forth from dim, ill-smelling halls. 
From stuffy, cluttered rooms. 
From stifling attics and loathsome cellars 
Into the outer air. 

They crowd the crazy stoops and crumbling 

stairs. 
Overflowing the pavement and the oozing gutters 

edge: 
Slouching, unshaven men. 
Sallow, slattern women 
With wispy hair caught back 
From bleak, unlovely faces. 
Suckling at inadequate breasts 
Their latest born; 

The aged with peering eyes and sagging lips. 
And children with old features marked with 

doom. 

Curses are heard and raucous cries, 

A woman's shrill, sudden laughter, 

The wail of a sick child, 

The dry cackling of a senile voice, 

A babe's complaint — 

And coming nearer and nearer down the 

street 
The whine of a hurdy-gurdy 
Playing over and over 
"I'm Always Blowing Bubbles" 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 53 

What do they know of the beauty 

Of summer days and nights, 

Housed within musty walls. 

Bred in misery and schooled in wantonness, 

Without a hope, an aspiration or a dream? 

What do they know of the miracle of a waking 

world. 
Of dew-gemmed sward and the lifted faces of 

flowers? 
What do they know of leafy dells. 
And the clear call of a bird to its mate — 
Of water sparkling over pebbles. 
Of wide, wind-swept spaces, sunny vales 
And hoary peaks, 
Of dawn and dusk and starlight and — God?. . . 

But then, they have the pavements and the 
hurdy-gurdy. 

PRESCIENCE 

Today, beloved, when you came home I saw, 
For the first time, some silver in your hair. 
And that you stooped a little, and your face 
Had lines I did not even dream were there. 

When you had kissed me, smiling in my eyes, 
I tried to smile — but suddenly there grew 
A strange, cold numbness all about my heart. . . 
And I could only weep and cling to you. 



54 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



SONG 

Life gave me wings today. 
Swift, vibrant, tipped with fire, 
Upon them I could soar 
To dear lands of desire. 

But we will walk instead. 
My little Love and I — 
'Tis better two should walk. 
Than one, alone, should fly. 



DEBT 

'Twas not their love that held the life within me. 
When half-content, I faintly strove with Death, 
'Twas not the anguish of their faces lifted. 
Their shaken breath — 

It was not tear nor prayer of theirs that kept me: 
It was a sudden flaming thought that thrilled 
And moved my blood again — a promise given 
And unfulfilled. 

TRANSFIGURATION 

Love was crucified ... 

We laid him 

In the tomb, 

But even as we mourned 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 55 



He put on immortality. 
And arose 

And came unto us agam 
So glorified and radiant. 
That, questioning, we drew back- 
Only by the pierced hands 
We knew him. 

OUT OF DEFEAT 

Out of mysterious space 
Wind voices come — 
The night it has a cry 
But my heart is dumb. 

The stars are eyes that watch 
Far overhead — 
The night is a living thing 
But my heart is dead. 

THE FIELD 

My heart is like a thirsty field 
Denied the blessed rain. 
Where withered in the furrow lies 
The tender, budding grain. 

Each morning to the rosy dawn 
I look up hopefully. 
For who can know but God, this day, 
May send his rain to me. 



56 WITH STAR AND GRASS 



DISILLUSION 

I caught young Life against my breast. 

Adorable, divine; 

I cried, *T will not let you go 

For you are mine." 

At first I feared lest she might slip 

Weary of me away, 

But now I dread lest this changed thing 

May choose to stay. 



SEPTEMBER 

And now comes sun-burned Autumn o'er the hills, 
With trailing robes that sv/eep the fair green 

things. 
Crimsons and purples in her wake she brings — 
Life leaps to color as her fancy wills. 
Lavish of all her splendor, here she spills 
A bit of scarlet, there a gold gleam flings; 
The rusty steep to answering beauty springs. 
Where through the drowsy hours the locust shrills. 

Only the corn-field sere and withered stands, 
Its tattered shadows woven carpet-wise, 
A specter of the Summer, stark and pale, 
Unglorified at Autumn's generous hands. 
A-down its ragged rows a whisper sighs. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 

A sudden shadow, faint and chilly drear. 
Falls on the hazy landscape like a veil. 
In vague alarm the saplings bend to hear 
The footsteps of the Winter drawing near. 

SPRING 

These are the days when hearts must feel 

A stronger quickening, 

For lighted on the foothills burn 

The first green fires of Spring. 

But some there are may never heed 
The call of earth and skies. 
But from the prison-house of life 
Look forth with wistful eyes — 

Far, far beyond the City's pave 
Where beckon friendly trees, 
And mountains veil their ancient scars 
With pale anemones. 

THE VAMPIRE 

Upon one crying in the night I came, 
A tiny, fretful thing without a name. 
It clasped my neck, it lay upon my breast. 
Its ceaseless wailing would not let me rest. 
And cold its little head above my heart — 
But could I bid so small a guest depart? 



58 WITH STAR AND GRASS 

And there it clung and cried till worn and spent, 
I bared my breast and gave it nourishment. 
With vampire lips from hour to hour it drew 
My very life-blood, and so fast it grew. 
Ere morning broke, the candle on my shelf 
Showed it of stature equal to myself. 

For weary days I struggled to be free 

Of that cold menace slowly throttling me. 

At last I cried, "O, Fear! I know your name — 

Begone into the darkness whence you came!" 

It loosed its hold and this its feeble cry: 

*'Yea, when men name me boldly, then I die.*' 

THIS IS ENOUGH 

This is enough — to call you friend — to see 
When at the long day's end I come to you 
For comradeship and cheer as friends may do, 
The light leap to your eyes because of me. 

Warm palm to palm in greeting silently. 

The close, strong clasp of unvoiced sympathy — 

With perfect understanding words are few. 

The pleasant room, the shabby chairs that woo 
With wide, inviting arms; upon your knee 
Some well-loved volume, thumbed and worn, 

that we 
Have read together — fire-light and we two — 

This is enough. 



WITH STAR AND GRASS 59 



QUATRAIN 

OPine upon the mountain, that ever looks at God, 
O Pine upon the mountain that sings with 
stars at night — 
Sometimes I catch the vision, sometimes I hear 

the song 

And all the Silence trembles, and all the hills 
grow white. 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 

Although it hides the mountains in its mist, 
I can be patient with the rain to-day — 
I know behind the curtain, shut away, 
God works with gold and green and amethyst. 

And next time that I take the trail I'll go 
Half-fearful of a presence where I pass. 
Half-shy of new leaves and of springing grass, 
And valiant buds that push up through the snow. 



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